


grace under pressure

by empyrean



Category: Cadfael Chronicles - Ellis Peters
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empyrean/pseuds/empyrean
Summary: It's not that Cadfael is worried, of course not. It's just Hugh has this terrible habit of getting into the worse scrapes at the worst times.An examination of the friendship between a monk and the deputy sheriff of Shropshire.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Monksandbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monksandbones/gifts).



The morning of the 16th July 1140 bloomed hot from the beginning. The smell of flowers lay thick on the air, the deep warm thrum of bees wafted up from the fields on a soft breeze and the damp clinging to the earth from the storm the night before aided to disperse the worst of the heat. And in the monastery of St. Peter and St. Paul, Brother Cadfael was unhappy.

It wasn’t the weather – a peaceful summer day was a rare ask, in this day and age. It was the night before that had kept him uneasy well into the small hours, and then to rise early in the morning, looking westwards out across towards Wales.

Hugh Beringar, deputy sheriff of Shropshire, had torn off into the driving rain and thunder late last night. Bidden into the wild on orders of the sheriff to track down a rogue knight of Empress Maud’s that word said had returned to the county of his birth.

He hadn’t returned. And the storm had closed in on the town soon after his departure.

 _Such is the fate of the old_ , Cadfael mused, distracting himself with the task of tearing optimistic weeds from his herb beds, _that we’re left to watch, and wait, and wonder_.

Still, as the sun climbed higher into the sky towards midday, the hard hand around his heart tightened its grip. Every clatter of hooves in the forecourt made him glance up. Every friendly shout in a man’s voice turned his head as if summoned.

Oswin, toiling loyally beside him and as always sensitive to his moods, murmured platitudes as the morning wore on.

‘I’m sure the deputy is well, Brother. He isn’t reckless.’

Cadfael often wondered to himself, how his fellows in the abbey and the people in town had gotten the idea of Hugh Beringar as simply a fair, just man. A child’s idea of the perfect knight. He is that, of course. Courageous, resourceful and honest as the day is long. But everyone seems to place out of their mind that this is the same man who threw a jewel down in front of Courcelle, accused him of murder _and_ challenged him to a duel, all those years ago. Though time and fatherhood had blunted the rashness of youth, Hugh in spirit was the combination of high-hearted and bloody-minded that he had seen often on crusade, and it had led to many anxious waits for news when it became apparent that Hugh had torn off somewhere with no notice, aid or plan.

It was late afternoon by the time Cadfael straightened up from his work, turning to Oswin with a very well-prepared story about the Gothild family’s elderly grandmother requiring treatment for her back and would Oswin be so kind as to see to his herbs while he was away?

Oswin, to his credit, simply nodded and watched Cadfael’s grey-tonsured head beeline towards the abbey in search of the Abbot. And when Cadfael entered the Abbot’s chambers, his completely reasonable excuse flowed off his tongue with barely a twinge on his conscience. He was, after all, going to deliver the ointment while he was in town.

‘It’s the ointment for Mother Gothild’s back, Father Abbot. I promised her son I would bring it to the house as soon as it was ready.’

Radulfus did not point out that one of the novices could deliver the ointment just as easily – and likely more quickly – than Cadfael could. If he discerned that Cadfael’s route might just lead him in a certain direction in the town, he made no comment, merely reminding Cadfael with a raised eyebrow and a dry tone to mind that he returned without discovering a crime or unearthing a body.

And if Cadfael’s route did take him by the house by St. Mary’s church that the Beringar family used when in town, who was to suspect it wasn’t happy accident?

* * *

 

The look of relief on Constance’s face when she came to the door made Cadfael’s heart both race and drop at the same time.

‘Ah Brother, see if you can talk some sense into his fool head.’

From somewhere inside the dark, warm confines of the house, another voice answered, ‘I heard that.’

‘As you were meant to,’ Constance replied tartly, ushering Cadfael further into the house. ‘You worrying me like this. What would me mistress say if she were to hear of it? You’ll let the good brother help and I’ll hear nothing else out of you, my lord.’

‘I hear and obey, your majesty.’

Cadfael and Constance shared a look of weary consolation. Hugh’s wit, already more arid than some of the deserts Cadfael had experienced in the east, grew dry as bones and dust when he was weary or sickened.

Sat on the lowest step in the staircase that led up to his rooms, Hugh was watching Cadfael’s approach with exhausted patience, like a condemned man watching the approach of an executioner.

‘Are you running low on tricks, old master? It’s almost Vespers, I half expected you to be up to your elbows in some mystery by now.’

Many would have bristled at the tone, laden thick with amusement. Most would have missed the deep-seated affection banked inside it. Cadfael, reaching out to grip Hugh’s shoulder in greeting, felt the unnatural heat raising from his skin and identified the cause of his sharp mood in a heartbeat.

‘Fever, is it?’

‘I felt faint and sat, Mistress Constance thinks I am in need of assistance.’

‘As well she might.’ Cadfael tries not to wince at the thought of Hugh cracking his head on the stone floor. ‘Come now, your body will thank you for a bed.’

Hugh sighed deeply, muscles shifting under Cadfael’s fingers. When his eyes finally lifted to Cadfael’s face, his expression was sheepish.

‘I find myself uninclined to rise from here.’

Between them, they get Hugh back into the master bedroom and under the covers. Trying to dampen his rising anxiety, Cadfael pressed a hand to Hugh’s forehead, waiting as he fussed under his hand like a young child.

‘It’s just a chill, Cadfael. It’s been coming on since I went out last night.’

Downstairs, Constance clattered in the kitchen, pots and pans and cutlery rattling as she went about her day-to-day business of running the house in Aline’s absence.

Hugh groaned, turning his head into Cadfael’s palm.

‘Is the woman trying to bring the house down?’

His willingness to complain was perversely reassuring, in its own way. Cadfael traced a thumb over the vulnerable indentation of Hugh’s temple, feeling the heat and the deep pulse of life underneath. Hugh’s half-shut dark eyes met his, and the moment stretched out in the way of quiet moments in the early hours.

 ‘ _Cysga'n dawel,_ Hugh. I’ll be here when you wake.’

Eventually Hugh stilled, falling into a fever-fed dreams of his own. Skin flushed, hair ruffled, he barely looked older than his own son. Giles and Aline, were tucked safely away in Maesbury and likely ignorant of any events in Shrewsbury, and even more likely to miss Hugh for a few days more.

Cadfael settled into a chair drawn up by the bed, and resigned himself to wait.

He must drift off, because it’s into the warm, perfumed air of early morning that Cadfael rouses himself, to be immediately greeted with the amused gaze of a very awake Hugh.

‘Yes, yes,’ Cadfael stretched, the chair had not been a comfortable space for the night, but he was well used to napping in odd places. ‘Not a word out of you, young pup.’

A quiet snort. Hugh was sat up in the bed, and Cadfael was relieved to see the cool skin and steady rise and fall of his breathing. Hugh was not completely whole again, but he was mending. The heavy warmth of the morning sun pressed against Cadfael's back like an old friend

‘When you reach my years, Hugh, you’ll be glad of some sunshine on your old bones.’

Hugh’s voice crackles in the quietness of the morning. ‘If I’m as interfering as you when I’m your age, I will be the terror of the town.’

‘Speaking of interfering. You caught what had you barrelling out into the storm without cloak or cowl to cover you?’

Hugh stiffened, and his head dropped. ‘No.’

‘No?’ Cadfael frowned. ‘He barely had the lead on you, from what I heard.’

‘Is there anything you do not hear?’

‘Hm, probably. I just heard that part, not the rest.’ He regarded Hugh, his gaze still stubbornly turned away. ‘You have done something you’d rather not speak to me about?’

The dark gaze shot up to his, sickness not clouding the sharp surprise in it, nor the wry amusement. ‘You are a witch, Cadfael. No,’ he sighed, ‘I have not done anything, at least nothing I regret.’

‘Then…?’

‘I’ve done nothing I regret,’ Hugh repeated slowly, ‘and that is what worries me.’

‘Tell me of it, then. A problem shared is a problem halved, so they say.’

Hugh regarded him quietly, and Cadfael looked back. His eyes were still fever-bright, but they were as steady and clear as they always were.

‘You heard about the knight?’ Hugh began.

‘A little. A local lad, who was until lately in the south fighting for the Empress. He came here either seeking someone or just in search of a quiet life.’

‘Well, he hardly found it.’ Hugh paused. ‘He _was_ looking for someone. A lady. His betrothed since they were in swaddling clothes. Her father was planning to marry her to another once the lad declared for the empress but apparently neither knight nor lady would hear of it.’

‘And he came here to spirit her away until neither father nor God could separate them. But that does not explain why you are tying yourselves into knots about this, Hugh. You will find them.’

Hugh sighed. Tired, amused, he quietly replied. ‘I _did_ find them. On the welsh road. Two astride an old nag, it wasn’t difficult.’

‘And?’

‘I am sworn, Cadfael. As deputy sheriff I am to uphold the king’s justice. So I did the only thing I found just.’

Another man might look at the dark, scowling, sharp face of Hugh Beringar and assume he meted out the law on the two runaways with the blade, as many did in this day and age. But Cadfael knew Hugh’s heart as well as he knew his own.

‘You let them go.’

Hugh's sudden smile was like sunrise on the day after a battle. And the sudden stab of affection Cadfael felt for this proud, stern man no longer took him by surprise, after all these years. People might wonder at the friendship between the elderly monk and the deputy sheriff still in his prime, but Cadfael had always hoped he would be a friend to any creature as decent, no matter their age.

‘They’ll be safe by now, hidden in your old country.' Hugh added. 'They might reappear at some point soon, but it’ll be clear she’s his wife by then.’

‘And this bothers you?’

‘I allowed the empress’ man to walk cleanly in and then out of my grasp. I am for the king,' Hugh continued, 'and I still regret nothing.’

‘You assisted a fellow creature in their time of need, I doubt God will judge you.’

‘But the sheriff might.’

‘Gilbert Prestcote has other issues on his mind than two lovers in the night, Hugh.’ _And besides_ , Cadfael thought to himself, _you think that the people who might suspect would give it away? Sacrifice the deputy who understands mercy for the sheriff who carves through the issues in town with the grace of a butcher’s knife?_ ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

‘One day, Cadfael, I will have to hear all the secrets rattling around inside that head of yours.’

‘Only God knows everyone’s secrets, my friend.’ Cadfael demurred, smiling. Peering out into the bright morning, Cadfael could feel the first rays of sunshine, the chatter of people in the streets, and somewhere in the far-off rolling hills of his homeland, a young couple were rediscovering love by the grace of their enemy.

Cadfael threw the curtains open, and let the early morning sun stream into the room.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Cysga'n dawel', (lit. 'sleep quietly'), is how you say 'sleep tight' in Welsh.
> 
> For monksandbones, with the prompt 'The friendship between Brother Cadfael and Hugh Beringar is my favorite, and there can never be too much fic for it! I'd love anything that explores their friendship, whether you want to write about them fighting crime, sitting in Cadfael's herb garden and chatting, or anything in between! Feel free to bring in any other secondary characters you want, or invent your own - the main thing is more of Cadfael and Hugh being the best of friends!'


End file.
